


The Return

by fluffybookfaerie



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Domestic, Ficlet, M/M, the bunker
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-26
Updated: 2013-05-26
Packaged: 2017-12-13 01:49:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 798
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/818550
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fluffybookfaerie/pseuds/fluffybookfaerie





	The Return

It was funny how close their lives came to routine these days. A homemade meal every night, eaten at an actual kitchen table, was normal. Not normal was the knock that sounded at the door shortly after Dean had cleared away the dishes. The brothers looked at each other in confusion.

“Garth?” suggested Sam. Dean shook his head.

“Nah, he would’ve called first.” He thought for a moment, then shrugged and reached for one of the guns they kept hanging on the living room wall. “Probably just someone lost and looking for directions, but you can’t be too careful.”

Sam grabbed the gun away from him and headed towards the door. “You made dinner,” he called behind him. “I got this.”

Dean wondered idly if he should follow his brother, but considering the stack of dishes he had to clean, and the feeling of safety he had in their little batcave, he figured he might as well leave for to Sam to deal with. He didn’t hear any gunshots, so he figured it wasn’t anything serious.

He heard Sam’s footsteps soon afterwards as he returned to the kitchen. ”Was it just a raccoon?” he asked without turning around. “Those little sons of bitches have been—”  
“It wasn’t a raccoon,” Sam said in such a shaky voice that Dean whirled around in a panic, just in time to see a second figure enter the kitchen.

“Hello, Dean,” said Castiel.

It was Cas, but it wasn’t Cas. His chin was covered in stubble, the way Dean had only seen him on two other occasions—once in the future, and once in purgatory. There was a backpack—a backpack of all things—slung over one of his shoulders, and he was there was blood seeping through the sleeve of his trenchcoat and he just seemed smaller somehow, even though Dean knew instinctively that he was still the same height. And still, more or less, the same Cas. He didn’t know how long he stood there, looking over the trenchcoated man standing before him, but it was long enough that Sam felt the need to clear his throat.

“I think there are some bandages in the bathroom…” he trailed off, and turned to leave the kitchen.

“Cas…” Dean’s voice came out a growl, and he realized that he was angry. His hands were shaking, and he was finding it hard to see straight. “Once Sam fixes you up, I want you out.”

Cas recoiled at the harsh words, but then his head drooped forward in a limp nod of acceptance. Dean braced himself against the inevitable flutter of wings, but Cas stayed put. He wondered with a pang how serious the injury really was, but he pushed the concern away.

“I had hoped,” said Cas in a low voice, “that you would forgive me yet again. But perhaps I have reached my limit.”

“And what good would forgiving you do me, huh?” hissed Dean. “When you’re just going to zap away once you get your mojo back? Again?”

Cas looked up at that and opened his mouth, but Dean continued over him.

“Do you know how it feels, knowing that you’re out there, listening to me pour my damn heart out to you, but never coming? Do you know how I felt when you just left me alone in Lucifer’s crypt? Dammit, Cas, I can’t deal with you coming back right now, just to leave again.”

“Dean.” Cas had stepped forward, and there was life in his voice now. “Do I look like I’m about to leave you?”

And suddenly, everything clicked into place. The bleeding, the knocking on the door instead of flying, his diminished presence. Dean inhaled sharply. “You’re human,” he whispered. And now Dean was the one moving towards Cas, and there was heat in the way Cas was gazing at him, ready to welcome him—when Dean slammed his fist into the other man’s jaw, hard enough to make him crumple to the ground.

The wrongness of having that sort of power, of being able to hurt Cas, killed the last of Dean’s anger in a hurry, and then he was on the floor kneeling over the fallen angel and saying his name over and over again in a breaking voice, and Cas was sitting looking at him with so much love that he didn’t deserve, and then they were kissing, desperately, breathing coming in uneven gasps, hands pressing each other so tightly together and somehow not quite close enough. 

And then Dean had to pull away because tears were running down his face and his body was shaking with silent sobs. And so Cas just held him, pressing kisses to his temple, and assuring him, over and over again, that this time, he had come to stay.


End file.
